


Thus our heart is consecrated to all that flows and runs

by AleDic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AleDic/pseuds/AleDic
Summary: [Double shots(?) ǀ First attempt Destiel as explicitly pairing ǀ largely What if]# 1. ~ Dean!Centric, between 5x02 and 5x03:Dean finds him almost ridiculous - or he would if weren't that Cas is an Angel of the Lord and, fallen or not, he could really reduce him to dust just with a look and, no, that wouldn't be funny at all. And the thing, drunk or not, is starting to make him uncomfortable, so he does what he does best: throws everything under the worn carpet of his soul, smiles and makes stupid jokes.#2. ~ Cas!Centric, 10x03:It was the contrast, Castiel thinks. The Dean Winchester who appeared outside, the warrior chosen by God who hunted in darkness from all his life, and the Dean Winchester that Castiel saw beyond all the shells in which he was wrapped, the soul full of guilt and pain who thought didn't deserve to be saved.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 1





	Thus our heart is consecrated to all that flows and runs

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** they are not mine, obviously.  
>  **Genres:** Introspective, quite Angst I would say, Slice of Life (unfortunately), Sentimental (?).  
>  **Warnings:** sort of What if, Missing Moment, Dean!Centric, I hope to have not resulted in the OOC, delicate issues as there is a clear abuse of alcohol here, self-destructive tendencies and other decidedly unhealthy things.  
>  **Context:** somewhere between 5x02 and 5x03.  
>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel.  
>  **Pairings:** hints Destiel.  
>  **Notes:** the opening lines are taken from Hermann Hesse's poem "Io ti chiesi".  
>  **Author's Notes:** So, this is my translation of my fic, be indulgent if you can. It's also my first real experiment Destiel as pairing (who would have thought ???!!!). It's a work divided into two parts which could also be read in stand-alone at the end, but would lose a little all the purpose behind it ( ?).
> 
> With the hope of cheering you up (? Well, not really, but we understand each other) this bad situation in which we find ourselves and the quarantine, I leave you this first shot.
> 
> See you soon,
> 
> Ale

**#1.**

Io ti chiesi perché i tuoi occhi

si soffermano nei miei

come una casta stella del cielo

in un oscuro flutto.

Cas is staring at him. Which in itself is nothing strange - it would be if it were anyone else, but it is _Cas_ and Cas always staring at him and in a strange way and now Dean is getting used to accepting that this is simply Cas's way to look (although restricted, apparently, only to him).  
The problem is that he's staring at him _stranger_ than usual, his eyes thinned so much that Dean wonders if they'll ever go back to normal. It's like he's trying to see through a keyhole - and in a sense, Dean thinks, it's true. Only that he is the keyhole. And his hole is - okay, this thing is starting to sound ambiguous and disturbing, and without any sense. The blame is probably due to the amount of alcohol in which Dean spent the evening drowning any thoughts regarding the Apocalypse, Lucifer, Sam and anything else that he managed to mess up during his life.  
(Cas is somewhere on that list, except that Dean isn't ready to even recognize it to himself right now.)

  
The angel had suddenly appeared in the motel room when the floor at the foot of the bed was full of empty beer bottles and he was drinking yet another.  
«Hey, Cas» had greeted him - mumbling, most likely - without even wincing or asking how he had found him - he imagines that before his brain started to become a clouded and inconsistent mush, they spoke on their cell phones.  
Cas hadn't replied. He had sat at the table in the corner, just in the direction of the part of the bed on which Dean was making his pathetic number, and had remained silent staring at him, so intensely to make him wonder if from one memento to another he would have shrunk in powder.

Dean finds him almost ridiculous - or he would if weren't that Cas is an Angel of the Lord and, fallen or not, he could really reduce him to dust just with a look and, no, that wouldn't be funny at all . And the thing, drunk or not, is starting to make him uncomfortable, so he does what he does best: throws everything under the worn carpet of his soul, smiles and makes stupid jokes.  
«Cas, if you really decided to stay here instead of going to do-- whatever else you were doing, you can't stand there like a statue of salt. You must at least drink a--»  
Apparently Dean is more drunk than he thought and getting up abruptly after trying to grab a beer from the heap, at least three times, was not a good idea because the room suddenly starts spinning like it's on a roller coaster and he no longer feels the floor under his feet. In fact, for a good five seconds that seemed a lot more to him, Dean feels absolutely nothing anymore, the whole world becomes a black and empty abyss as if someone had decided to suddenly disconnect the current. Then the light returns along with everything else and for a moment Dean is too confused to focus on something - there is only a mixture of incomprehensible sounds and a strange pressure on the shoulders and back.

«Dean.»

Cas's voice comes clear to him with a muffled and prolonged train, but it's closer than it should. He blinks again as if wanting to be sure he has regained at least eighty percent of his vision and when he reopens his eyes he no longer finds the carpet of empty beer bottles and the horrible greenish carpet he has spent hours staring at with disgust, but a white shirt with a horrible blue tie in the middle, and legs folded in trousers of a black suit.

If the situation was already pathetic and embarrassing until a minute before, now it has really reached the bottom: he is semi-sitting/semi-precipitated on the floor, the back recessed in the edge of the bed and one leg almost distorted under the other. He didn't slaughter himself by falling on glass bottles just because Cas - still able to be faster than a human being could ever - grabbed him in time.

«Dean.»

This time the major of the Winchesters senses the concern in Cas's voice and realizes that he is still bent over him, kneeling between a pile of trash and his hands firmly anchored to his arms, and again - because he is drunk and because there is probably something really wrong with him - he finds it all ridiculous (himself, Cas, that shabby motel room, Heaven, Hell, and even his inveterate alcoholic hangover and his almost subsequent death). The laugh that comes out of his throat sounds completely _wrong_ even to his ears - flat and calm - scratches his vocal cords and chest and makes him bend forward almost as if someone had hit him.

« _Dean_.»

He knows he is an asshole - now more than usual - because Cas has almost seen him kill himself on one of his most self-destructive and self-pity evenings he has had in a long time, and he is still holding him almost as if he should fall again from a moment to another. So he decides to stop being a coward for a second and raises his face, intending to reassure him that he won't have to bury his corpse in the woods this time.  
Except he didn't realize _how_ close the other is.  
When he raises his head and opens his mouth to speak, he finds Cas's lips. It's more a clash than a kiss: when he lifts to speak, his lips touch Cas's chin and then stop on his mouth. It's probably the only really ridiculous thing of all that evening, and also the most embarrassing, only that Dean doesn't find it either. In reality Dean finds _nothing_ in that situation that is even remotely definable. Nor does it do anything about it. It's like being back out of current as a few minutes before, only this time Dean is - almost entirely - conscious. He can see the small wrinkles under Cas's eyes and feels his breath blowing on his skin. Cas doesn't turn away either, but he is the one who finally breaks the silence.  
«Are you ok?»  
The moment he speaks, Dean feels his breath enter between his lips as they move on his own and it's like receiving an electric discharge all over his body. Dean gasps and jumps away so fast that Cas is caught off guard and lets him go - and Dean slams his back against the edge of the bed and risks falling all over again. The angel grabs it a second before it happens - for the second time.  
«I'm fine.»  
It would sound a lot more convincing, Dean thinks, if he didn't mumble the words as if his mouth was stuck with glue and his voice didn't tremble. Cas in fact shows no sign of moving or letting go.  
«Cas. I'm fine.»  
This time he takes a breath and tries to calm down - even if the room has started to spin again and he wants to vomit his soul too. He pats him on the shoulder, with all the strength and firmness he is capable of at the moment to emphasize everything and Cas, if not convinced, seems at least sure that he will not scramble on the floor if he tries to move, so he loosens his grip just enough for Dean to sneak out of his hands and try to get back on his feet.  
It's more difficult than he would like to show and in fact Cas notices it, because he grabs him again - this time for an elbow and with a light touch - to help him get on the bed.  
«Wow. This is a hangover with bows.»  
He's talking to Cas, but he says it to the hippie carpet around him.

«Dean.»

There's this thing he does, Cas, the way he pronounces his name - and it's a stupid thing, really, because it's Cas and it's only _normal_ that even a name said by him sounds strange, and Dean is drunk and he just half-kissed him and-- he just wants to sleep. Forever, if possible.

(Except that obviously it's not because otherwise he would be, well, _dead_ and he can't even afford that given that out there is the fucking Apocalypse waiting for him, that he has no idea how to stop.  
Which is why he started that night of alcohol, which led him to take one of the worst hangover of his life, which in turn is why he ended up with Cas stuck to his face. The next day he will have to talk to the almost ex-angel about what personal space is.  
If he ever remember anything about this whole situation.

_He really hopes not_.)

He lies down on the mattress, turning away from the side where Cas is located, without going under the covers, without even taking off his shoes.  
«It's late, Cas. I'm drunk and with a mad desire to throw up yesterday's lunch too. Just let me-- just let me sleep, okay?»  
Cas doesn't reply immediately. Dean closes his eyes, always giving him his back and hopes that the other magically disappears as usual.  
«Okay.»  
The resigned and hesitant tone with which he hears him say that one word, as far as he knows at that point, could be the result of his imagination.  
He knows, however, that tension leaves his body and he is already one step away from unconsciousness.

He also knows that, until the last moment he is conscious, he doesn't hear Cas go away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
{ Oh whatever that your days may bring  
No use hiding in a corner,  
Cause that won’t change a thing  
If you’re dancing in the doldrums,  
One day soon, it’s got to stop, it’s got to stop.  
 **~ In the Evening – Led Zeppelin }**


End file.
